Posted By Russ Emerson on October 17, 2004 at 11:37 pm
Yes, I’m experimenting with my stylesheets. The “pull quotes” method in the previous post has been stolen shamelessly from Spoons.
[I spent the weekend rebuilding templates and stylesheets for Blogs For Bush — I figure I can take a little time for myself.]
Posted By Russ Emerson on October 15, 2004 at 3:02 pm
I live in a pretty decent neighborhood. Solidly “upper middle-class,” maybe “lower upper-class”… lots of professionals live in my neighborhood. If we all banded together, we could start a high-tech company all our own.
We’re somewhat out in the sticks, too — our little subdivision in the woods west of Raleigh is the last one you get to before you’re in genuinely rural territory. Cows, horses, ostriches, that sort of thing. Livestock. Crime here is virtually non-existent, if not actually non-existent.
A couple nights ago, while I was lying in bed reading prior to turning out the light, I heard a noise downstairs.
It was not the usual cat-generated noise — the cat was lying on my chest getting a one-handed chin-scratch while I held my book in the other hand. Nor was it the common “wind-blown twig hitting the side of the house” noise.
This sounded like someone trying to get in the sliding glass door off my back deck. I’ve never actually had anyone get into my house before, but that’s what it sounded like to me.
There’s a phone next to my bed. A police visit would have been a mere 911 call away.
The thought of calling the police never crossed my mind.
What first crossed my mind was get a firearm.
Not call a cop, but get a gun.
Five minutes of investigation determined that it was no mere twig that had blown up against the house, but rather a length of branch about 1″ in diameter knocking up against the sliding glass door. No big deal after all.
I delight in imagining, however, the look of utter surprise a burglar might wear on his face when confronted by a giant (me: 6’8″, 300+ lbs.) in jockey shorts wielding a Remington 870 12-gauge shotgun. The sound of that slide racking is probably enough to cause severe and immediate bowel hyperactivity.
Epilogue: I returned upstairs to my room, to be greeted by a slightly miffed feline. He looked at me from the foot of my bed, no doubt indignant that his chin-scratch had been so rudely interrupted. I’m sure he thought I was an idiot cowboy. That’s OK — I think he’s French. I know which I’d rather be.